Games of Subconscious
by puuZ
Summary: Amy Solance is a graphic designer, living an ordinary life. When a murder two doors down brings the handsome Detective Westen knocking on her door, Amy finds herself the next victim as she and Zach try to discover the killer's identity.But something's off
1. Prologue

Games of Subconscious   
  


I don't own Sailor Moon or any of the original characters. 

This is a short prologue of a story I'm currently working on. Hope you like it. Thank you to all the readers who reviewed my previous stories.   


_ '...Another homicide occurred yesterday at approximately 9 o'clock in the evening. The police are currently investigating the crime. Chief Tom Henderts of Wisconsin PD made a public announcement today that this murder might be linked to the recent chain of dead women between the ages of 23-30. For more on this and other top news, tune in at 11 o'clock. I'm Gracie Tanner.'_

She grabbed the remote and punched the MUTE button, cutting the sound off the upcoming commercial. Taking hold of the cordless phone, Amy repositioned herself before turning her attention back to the speaker on the other end. 

'Yeah, yeah. I saw the news. Well, it is on all channels. Yes, Mom, I will be careful. No, you don't need to come down here. I'll be fine, Mom, I promise. I know it was on the same floor, but I'll be fine. Mom, stop treating me like a baby. For God's sake, I'm 26 years old!' 

Sighing in frustration, Amy slammed the phone back into its' cradle, rubbing her temples in hope of relieving some stress. With the murder of Liza Cooma two doors down on the same floor she lived, the apartment building was swarmed with investigators and detectives trying to recover any clues. 

Amy, busy with the long work schedule didn't arrive home until 11 o'clock the same night, the murder already discovered and under investigation. Since she had an alibi and had given proof of witnesses seeing her at work, she was released from further questioning. 

Curling up on the coach, Amy reached for her book to do some reading before going to bed. The softness of the covers were somewhat relaxing after the tough and busy day. Closing her eyes, her subconscious submitted her into a dreamless sleep. 


	2. Chapter One

  
  


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the long wait, here's the first chapter. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon, but I do, however, own the original characters in this piece. So, I'll sue you if you plan to take them without permission. Hmph. 

Games of Subconscious   
Chapter 1   
dime_of_dreams@yahoo.ca   
  
  
  
  


Sipping her coffee, she tried to rid her mind of the unexplained uneasiness that came over her in dizzying waves. She winced at the hot temperature as the dark liquid slid down her throat, leaving a burning feeling behind. 

Ever since her mother's call yesterday, Amy began going through more and more unexplained panes of fright, not quite grasping the concept of the reason behind it. Ah, shit. She was just being paranoid. Maybe she didn't want to admit it, but the whole ordeal had shaken her up. 

"Amy, are you all right?" 

Greg. Lifting her head, she smiled at the nervous man. Greg was in his mid-thirties with dark brown hair that was beginning to thin out from all the stress he received from his long-hours job. Greg lived and breathed graphics, computers and overall anything that involved technology. He was a whiz, and the first person anyone thought to ask when they ran into trouble associating their job. 

"I'm fine, Greg. Did you want something?" She fingered the coffee mug, her gaze closing in on his darting eyes. 

He would've been a handsome man if it wasn't for his nervous state and panicky eyes. 

"Oh. Ah, no. Just wanted to see if you were all right. That's all." He straightened his back, relaxed his jaw and nodded at her. "And since you seem all right, I'll advise you to get back to work. Coffee break is over." 

Amy smiled. That was the guy she got to know over the last year. No nonsense, no time wasting talk that didn't involve work or progress of the company. As she was clued in on her first day, Greg lived and breathed computer graphics, and he made it his goal to make sure everyone else developed the same love for work as he did. 

There was no arguing with him, not sense in pointing out that there was more to life than computers. Greg didn't share those theories, and getting onto his bad side was like requesting to be fired. While at work, all the employees tried their hardest at avoiding getting into anything that Greg wouldn't prove of. It was a game, and Greg held the upper cards. Whenever he wanted, he could have all their asses served on a silver platter. 

With that warning, he nodded at her once more and turned around to yell at some other unsuspecting fool that didn't follow a certain regulation. All in all, Greg wasn't a person to fuck with, and it was fun seeing the new guys get in deep shit with him before they even started their careers as graphic designers. 

She knew. She had been the new guy a year ago. Fortunately, Greg took a liking to her from day one so she didn't further than simple reminders. Nothing more. And for that she was the envy of the office. Greg didn't take a liking to anyone. She was lucky. 

Fuck. Work. She'd have to get up or Greg would stalk back here and give her another warning. Something even she couldn't avoid. Shit. 

Getting up Amy grabbed her mug and walked back to her cubical, occasionally waving at a familiar face.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


James Walters was looking over the files, hoping and praying that the criminal's identity would suddenly become clear to him. He was quite frustrated from the lack of evidence left at the previous crime scenes. This concluded that they were possibly dealing with someone much more experienced than a first time serial killer. And Walters wasn't happy with the fact that he was still stuck in the same spot he had started with. 

If he wanted to get the praise he knew he definitely deserved, and even a promotion, then he had to crack this case to show everyone that he was a first-rate investigator. This was his big chance to break out, and he'd be damned if he didn't take it. 

There was a knock on his door. "Walters?" 

Looking up, Walters shot out from his chair and walked up to his superior. 

"Lieutenant," he answered, saluting the tall woman. "Are you here for the latest report?" he asked, dropping his arm to his side. Lieutenant Kingsly was a stern woman, but was easily charmed by a good working uniform. She was the one he set out to impress from the first day he started work. And so far his hard tries were in vain. 

But that all would change just as soon as the murderer was behind bars due to his quick thinking and master detective skills. He noted that he'd enjoy the astonished looks on the faces of his colleagues once the big news that he was the one to decipher this confusing piece of puzzle got out. He imagined all the bright flashed of cameras, the flood of schedules for interviews to get a chance to question him about how he managed to place everything together. 

Walters knew he was one to fantasize about the future before it was clear enough to be solid, but it didn't matter this time. He would be the one who solved this whole nightmare, he could just feel it in his blood. 

"No. Walters, I've come to tell you that I have seen the lack of progress on your part, and decided to contact outside help to come and take over the investigation," said the Lieutenant, curiously eyeing the stricken detective for his initial reaction that was guaranteed to come the moment the news registered. 

"What?" 

"Yes, I have no choice." 

Drawing a deep breath, Walters squinted his eyes and looked at the serious expression on Lieutenant's face. He wouldn't let her ruin his big chance. Not her, not anyone. "You can't do this," he shouted, enraged that she would even think of committing such a thing. "I've worked so hard to get here, you can't take it away from me now that I'm this far," he pleaded. 

"Walters, I think you are interpreting this whole ordeal in the wrong way. This is not about you in the investigation. It is about finding the killer, which is something, from what I've witnessed, you are unable to do. We have to find this bastard before someone else dies, that's what is important," she pressed, her dark eyes sparkling with intensity and authority. 

Walters was sickened that he sounded so fussy and dependent. That was not how he wanted to office to see him. Authorized, imperial, intelligent, yes. Dependence was something only new additions to this field of work carried. He definitely wasn't new, and high above such foolish traits. Still, it was his chance. And Lieutenant Kingsly wasn't going to screw it for him. 

"However," she started again, and watched his eyes snap up at her as he came back from his mental musings. "I do think that you'll be of great assistance to the lead investigator, what with everything that you have learned in your time working here." 

'Of great assistance'? He, be an underling of someone who was going to take his place in this? Was the wench serious? That was going to be more humiliating than getting kicked off the case. 

"You cann--" 

He was cut off. "Great, he'll be here tomorrow. Be sure to fill him in." With that said, Lieutenant Kingsly spun around and headed out the door. 

"Fill who in? Who's taking over?" he yelled after her, but she was already gone. 

Damn it. Some new guy was not going to replace him. But he didn't think he had a choice or say in this matter. And to tell the truth, he was afraid of getting bumped down should he make a scene and 'prove himself unworthy of his position' as Lieutenant Kingsly pointed out to all the newly promoted uniforms.   
  
  
  
  


Detective Zach Westen sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning, just as the stewardess was passing by him. This whole damn flight was taking too long, and he wasn't a man of great patience. A bad trait in his line of work, as his superior liked to remind him from time to time. 

He checked his watch and huffed when he noted that only two hours had passed since the time of departure. He once again rehearsed the reasons of why he was doing this in his head. He needed a change of scenery, he knew that much. And he needed sex, lots of it. Casual sex, with no strings of commitment. 

_Another man afraid of commitment_, his sister always told him. He wasn't afraid of commitment, he corrected her every time. He just didn't need or have time for it. He accepted that before he got into this field. There simply wasn't any time in his busy schedule to come home and spend time with a long-term girlfriend, or even a wife. 

Or maybe Zach didn't _want_ to make time for any sort of relationship. He didn't have time or the chance to pour over that because the pilot's voice shook the noisy airplane and announced that they were ready to land. 

Relief coursed through Zach. He didn't like flying on planes, there were many things that could go wrong. Ironic, considering he was a detective, and taking chances was required. 

Sighing again, he sank back into the comfortable seat and tried to relax. He would to go down to the HQ and get started on this case. But first, he'd check into a hotel and get some sleep, or tomorrow he wouldn't be able to get anything done. And that wasn't an option. 

Hopefully, it would be a get-in-get-out case, but he wasn't counting on it.   
  



	3. Chapter Two

  
  
  


Games of Subconscious   
Chapter 2   
dime_of_dreams@yahoo.ca   
  


Zach checked into the nearest hotel, purposely ignoring the giddy smile and flirty eyes of the young receptionist. He probably would have flirted back if he wasn't so tired and impatient to get some sleep. And when he was tired, he got testy. 

This was presented to him as a quick case, when Lieutenant Kingsly called and asked him to come down. She was at an advantage when she caught him, too. He was half asleep when he agreed to fly to Wisconsin and work on the case. The following morning, a one-way ticket came as a special delivery to his door, and it was too late to back out. 

But, he reminded himself, this would count as a getaway. He made that promise when he boarded the slick airplane. 

Carrying a suitcase packed with a couple of spare changes of clothes and toiletries in one hand, and his brief case in the other, Zach followed the uniformed young man to his room. The plush, red carpet felt oddly soft, even through his shoes. 

"Here you are, sir." The scrawny, blonde kid motioned to the brown door. Using his key to unlock the door, he twisted the handle and outstretched his arm to guide Zach inside. As Zach entered the room, he saw the kid anxiously shift from one foot to the other. 

Glancing over the room to make sure everything was in order, he reached into the pocket of his black pants and took out a couple of bills. The kid eagerly stepped forward and eyed the folded money. With that in his possession, the blonde kid was out the door with a grateful wave. 

Finally, he'd get come quiet to shower and get ready for bed in peace. He'd have to call Nathan as well, to make sure his friend didn't forget to look after his house. That was always a possibility as Nathan could get reassigned and take off to another state. Nathan Peters was with the FBI as well, more as personal man of Lieutenant Timerson, which resulted in him being available whenever Timerson needed him. 

But he and Nathan went way back to elementary school. They first talked to each other at the principal's office after they threw a couple of punches at one another. From that day, they were inseperatable and their teachers always predicted that they were both going to be on those WANTED signs when they grew up. 

Those were some good memories, and somewhere deep down, Zach missed those days when the consequences were never thought of. Everything was allowed to slide with no more than a slap on the wrists, but those were days of his harmless, bother-free childhood and now the reality of the world being a big, bad place was proven over and over again. It seemed--no, it was-- that whenever he managed to catch one of the slimes, three more took his place. 

It seemed like a never ending battle, and he was always losing no matter how many times he'd have prevailed. That was what frustrated him to no end. 

Setting his bag on the bed, he began to rummage through it in search of anything he might need as not to go through it again. He thought that he might as well call Nathan now so he wouldn't forget or be too tired to call later. Taking his cell phone, he dialed the number and waited for Nathan to pick up. 

"Yeah?" 

"It's me." Zach moved his arm and repositioned himself on the bed to get more comfortable. 

"Zach?" Nathan called, his gruff voice carrying over the connection. 

"Well, who'd ya' think it'd be? Of course, it's me." 

Silence followed his statement. "Is that a knock on me?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Hey, do you know who you're talking to? I've a hell lot more of a social life than you, and you know it," he said, then paused. "Besides, doesn't being social include getting laid?" 

If there was one subject that got Nathan to display his cockiness, it was sex. Zach knew there was no comeback that would knock Nathan without making him look like a dumbass, so he changed the subject. 

"Are you still working the case?" 

"The Harris case? Yeah. It's about all wrapped up so I'm looking to be reassigned somewhere else." 

That was what Zach figured, he didn't know how Nathan could move from one place to another without so much as feeling anything. He envied him for being able to do that. 

"So, they caught Harris?" asked Zach, couriosity leaping after being told so much about the case. 

"Yeah, with my help, they did. All they have to do is sort the charges, and I'm out," he answered, and Zach could hear the pride in his voice. 

"You'll be famous, probably. I hear they were working the case for a year or something," Zach informed him, knowing that Nathan was already going over all the perks it'd bring him. 

"Yeah, but not as famous as you were when you figured out that Santa Claus case, remember?" 

Oh, remember he did. That sick bastard bought a Santa outfit and lured small children away with him. Took them to his basement and did unmentionable things to them. Then buried them right there, in the shallow ground, giving them a horrible death after all the torment. Zach still remembered all the details he heard when he finally caught that son of a bitch, still remembered that smug look in the fucker's eye when he told him about all the kids over the years. He still remembered the gloating tone, and reminded himself to take deep breaths. He was behind bars, for life, and there was no way he'd hurt anymore kids. 

But there were others out there, other perverts that the world were still unaware of. All seemingly innocent and incapable in the eyes of others. 

Deep breaths, he told himself, deep breaths. 

"Zach, you still there?" Nathan's voice brought him back from the flashbacks of horrendous memories. 

"Uhh...yeah, I'm still here." 

For the second time during their conversation, Nathan paused for a couple of seconds. No doubt contemplating over what to say. "Listen, sorry I brought up the topic. I know it's probably still a fresh wound." 

This just fueled the already burning fire. "You're treating me like I'm not capable of talking about it," said Zach, squeezing his cell phone, wishing it was that bastard's neck instead. "Since you seem so interested, I'll tell exactly what the hell happened. I went down that basement, the floor was removed and it had a nasty stench. There was a mattress in a corner, stained with blood." He was shouting now, but that didn't matter. 

"And thin ropes were placed beside it. Where the soil looked just freshly turned was where the sticks were placed, and on those sticks were taped small pieces of paper with each child's name, along with their picture. That piece of shit was taping what he did to those kids." He paused to take a long breath, and continued. 

However, Nathan cut him off. "Look, I--I don't know what to say. I know that you went though hell there, and no matter what I say will change that." 

Zach was still seeing red when he said, "This thing's charging me for every minute. I don't want to go bankbupt talking to you. I'll call you later." He hung up before Nathan could protest. 

Closing his eyes, he tired swallowing every bit of rage inside him. He wouldn't get angry at that fucker's expense, that would be giving him too much power. He scoffed at himself for listening to his psychiatrist. After all, he didn't believe in wasting money to talk about his feelings. Plus, he was a Westen, and no Westen was dependent on a shrink. 

This was turning into a long night, and he'd be damned if he didn't get any sleep. His mind worked better when he was well rested, and he was planning on working himself to the limit. He always counted on that, because his mind and body were too tired to create any nightmares regarding his last case. That was the only way he coped with his problem. He viewed it as something too private to tell anyone else, and knew he didn't need anyone else's help. He'd do just fine by himself. 

He noted that he was still sitting on the bed. Zach was definitely more amused than worried that he was afraid of getting started on another case. It wasn't funny, and yet the amusement still lingered there. He had become afraid of getting another case? It was his job, for God's sake. The amusement was gone at once when he realized that the Santa Claus case was turning him into a coward. He didn't want to give the motherfucker any power, but somewhere along the road, he lost say in his life. 

If he ever felt like punching something, it was now. But he didn't think that was much of a surprise given that he had just found out that his earnest prevention had been in vain. 

Throwing his cell phone on the night stand, and crossed the room to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help him from punching the wall. Maybe.   
  
  


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This would be the end of the second chapter. Not much of a progress one, though. But I like to background the characters before putting them into any sort of situations.   



End file.
